Son
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: George is heartbroken after the Battle of Hogwarts, and life will never be the same for him. At least he has a reminder of his deceased brother.


**A/N: Yep. I'm embarking on yet another slightly heartbreaking tale about Fred and George. This one is a one-shot. Please, please, please review, I'd appreciate it very much! **

**Disclaimer: [enter stuff about me not owning Harry Potter here]**

* * *

He stares at the ground in front of him, his eyes faraway as they bury his brother. It's not real. It can't be.

Fred Weasley is dead.

He always knew the risks, he always knew bad things could happen. But he never expected his brother would be the one to take the fall.

They bury him at Hogwarts with all the others who are dead. Fred is near Tonks and Lupin.

The full weight of everything that has happened hasn't yet hit him. He wishes it had. He wishes he felt the full pain of everything. Because if pain was the only connection he had with Fred, it would be enough.

He wishes he weren't wearing the suit. God, why is he wearing this suit? It's matching Fred's burial clothes.

How fitting for it to be overcast and gray on a day like this. Around him, every Hogwarts student-and every witch and wizard in England, perhaps the world-were grieving. He was not alone. So why the hell did he feel like he was alone? Tears run down his face and they don't stop, despite all his efforts. Ginny cries softly next to him, and he feels like an ass for not comforting her. Ron tries to stay composed but is failing miserably. He watches through blurred eyes as Ron breaks down and sobs, Hermione wrapping her arms around him, her own face dissolved in tears. He shakes her off and stands. Walks away.

He understood that. God, does he understand Ron.

* * *

The Three Broomsticks is crowded that evening and he manages to find a seat in a dimly lit corner by himself. Rosmerta brought him a firewhiskey earlier and he drinks it. He feels fire in his throat, his eyes streaming. Everyone else in the pub is celebrating the downfall of You-Know-Who, but not him, oh, not him.

The whiskey does not sit well with him and he stumbles out of the pub, drunk, into the rain. He retches and falls on the ground on his way back to Hogwarts, where many people were staying at Professor McGonagall's generosity. He falls on the ground and does not get up, willing to die right there. His head hits stone and he feels sharp pain in his head, his scalp oozing blood, and he wants to give up, just give up there.

"George?"

"George!"

She helps him up, supports him despite her own pain. She gets him on his feet and helps him stand, always.

* * *

He wakes in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, his mother anxiously waiting at his bedside. "George," she whispers. It had been five days after the death of his twin.

"Mum," he croaks. "I thought I was dead."

"Don't scare us, Georgie, please."

"I-I thought I would-d see him," he stammers.

Her face falls and she holds his hand as they both cry together.

* * *

One months later Angelina tells him she is pregnant. He does not know her. He does not know what to do. He is a virgin. He does not love her. Fred had loved her.

A child out of wedlock is a disgrace to the family, and whatever Mum says about how she loves the child, she will still be embarrassed. She will wonder who her son had actually been before his death. So George and Angelina marry, at least temporarily, to spare Fred's memory and herself from shame. His family finds it very sudden, but they allow it. They are happy because they think George is finally recovering.

* * *

Eight months later, and George is pacing the hall in St. Mungo's, worry and guilt and fear engulfing him. For what seems like eons he waits, but realistically it must be only a few hours. After an eternity a Healer comes out, smiling. "Would you like to meet your son?"

Not my son, he thinks. He heads inside, relieved. She is okay. The son is okay.

Fred should be here.

Everything fades away as he looks at Angelina, her eyes tired from her ordeal but warm with pride and love as she looks down at her son. He doesn't look like her. He looks like Fred, all in all. He crouches beside her bed and smiles at the little infant in her arms.

"I've thought of his name," Angelina tells him, smiling sadly. "Fred. Fred Weasley."

"Hey Freddie," he whispers softly as Angelina passes him the baby. He holds him in his arms, suddenly very thankful he has this living memory of Fred. "Hey Freddie," he repeats quietly. "I love you." He meets Angelina's eyes, tears running down both of their faces.

Freddie wasn't George's biological son, but maybe George could be his paternal father. He'd like that very much.


End file.
